Standing close behind me in line at the T.J.Maxx was a willowy woman in her early seventies with a cordial smile and eyes that anchored on the cashier and me as if she had something to share. Before I could put my wallet away, she jumped in, asking the cashier and me, “Do you know what a ReadeREST is?

“I was watching ‘Shark Tank’ and I found out about this,” she went on. “I just got it in the mail today.”

She pointed to the narrow, silver device she was wearing on the collar of her robin’s egg blue oxford shirt. “You see,” she said. “It’s for your reading glasses so you don’t need to buy an eyeglass necklace. You put it on like this.” She demonstrated by unattaching and reattaching the magnetic clip. “Isn’t that great?”

I was actually in a hurry, but if people want to talk with me in this day and age of what I call the “unencounter” (i.e. the disconnect from real people when in their presence), I listen if I possibly can.

“I like it,” I said, “but I’d be worried that I’d forget that it was on my shirt and it would end up in the washing machine.”

“I’m not worried about that,” she said, beaming and hung her glasses back over the ReadeREST.

I’ve never watched Shark Tank, and I doubt I will ever buy a ReadeREST, but it was good to see someone so excited about something, that she wanted to share it with everyone. Whatever it takes to connect with someone, I thought. That’s what counts.

Sometimes your timing is all wrong and you cross paths with a stranger that, judging from the situation, you’d rather not run into. How you handle it will hopefully predict its outcome. This is not a time to hide your head in your cell phone or duck and turn away. This is the time to “man up,” or “woman up,” as the saying goes.

This is what I thought was happening to me on a recent road trip when we pulled up to a gas station. My dog had to go to the bathroom. As I walked him towards a grassy area, I noticed a lawn mower running with no one on it. Scanning the property, I saw the lawn mower man, middle-aged with fair skin and a reddish beard, picking up garbage from the grass. Oh, I thought, he’s probably in a pisser mood. Why did that man have to be there right now?

“Hi,” I said to him in my friendliest voice as my dog was just about to go. “I brought a bag. I’m cleaning up after him.” I was wondering what his reaction would be. But he surprised me.

“I don’t care about that,” he said. “I care about the litter. You know what, people just don’t care anymore. They just don’t.” He held up the garbage bag for me to see. Paper cups, candy wrappers, and napkins stared back at me.

“You know what I’m most proud of?” he said. “I’m most proud of my two kids. They both care.”

“That’s great,” I said. “That’s saying a lot. Maybe people would clean up more if they knew how lucky they were to live in this country,” I said. “I know we’re not perfect, but we have it better than most.”

“You know what,” he said. “I worked with a guy at the factory. I don’t work there anymore, but he was from Madagascar. Every day he would say to me, ‘I am so lucky to live in America. I am so lucky.’ His saying that to me every day made me realize how lucky I was too.”

He paused. We looked at each other as he held the dirty bag.

I smiled at him. Memories of my Nana and Papa who immigrated to America from Russia came over me. I visited them weekly throughout out my childhood and there wasn’t a day that I can remember when one of them didn’t say to me, “You are so lucky to be an American. Never forget.” And I never did.

The lawn mower man and I wished each other a good day, and we meant it. Then I deposited my dog’s poop bag in the trash can next to my car and drove away.

I don’t know his name. He doesn’t know mine, but it was good for both of us to meet, to be reminded that amongst the litterers lie the true Americans, ones who will carry their garbage as far as it takes till they find the right container.

Our paths had crossed on a strip of grass at a gas station near Mansfield, Ohio, a town where John Chapman, known as Johnny Appleseed, lived for 20 years, striving to leave the world a better place than he found it. And in that crossing we had both been awakened by memories of important role models in our lives, voices that speak to us, reminding us to respect our land, to throw things away in their proper place, and to go that extra mile in gratefulness.

Sitting next to little strangers can be a good or bad experience. Yesterday, at an Indian restaurant, we discovered that it was worth taking the risk. My husband, Steve, our son Sam and I chose a table next to a family with two sons and a doting set of grandparents. One boy was about six years old and the other, who was in a high chair, looked to be almost two.

Of course the little toddler was the center of attention. He was seated with his back to us during lunch and happily munched on food that was passed his way. When he finished his meal, he lifted his arms up for his dad to pick him up. His wish was granted as his dad whisked him out of his highchair and onto his lap.

Then the boy took one look at our table and saw Sam. A big smile appeared across his face and got wider and wider, like there was no end in sight. His cheeks got rosier and rosier. I knew we were all thinking that he was the cutest thing we had seen in days.

Then the giggles rose out of him, giggles that burst out like bubbles. He couldn’t stop and Sam was smiling right back at him, his teen worries about the next day’s math and science tests vanishing from his face.

An elderly couple in the corner booth that sat side by side comfortably but hadn’t spoken a word to each other broke out in warm smiles as they watched the whole interaction in fascination.

The owner of the restaurant went over to the little boy’s table and stood gazing at him, as if to say, Thank you for bringing such happiness to my restaurant. I can make good food, but joy like this I can’t create.

“That’s amazing,” the little boy’s father said to us, looking baffled to his son’s gleeful encounter with a total stranger. “Jack just doesn’t do that.”

He kissed Jack on the top of his head. “You have a gift,” he said to Sam and Sam looked pleased.

“Yes, he does,” I added. “Babies do react like that to Sam. He makes them laugh.”

What a perfect circle: Sam made this toddler laugh, which in turn made Sam laugh. And watching the two of them together made all of us happy. This were smiles all around, thanks to this charming little stranger.